The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-08-06
POOR PETER PATTERSON.
BY ROSE TERRY COOKE.

He was tailor by trade, this Peter; q
tailor in the great city OF Gotham. He
left the country in his first youth, answer
ing an advertisement in a daily paper,
and being honest and plodding, worked
his way up until he had business OF his
own, ceased to think of little Lydia
Marsh, the sweetheart who had never for
gotten him, and became well-to do man,
with stout, easy going wife and COM
Portable home in an questionable quar-
ter of the city.
He was little man, with pursed-up lips,
short and uplifted nose, twinkling grey
eyes, small and sagacious, and rather
well-worn chestnut wig, quite old-fash-
toned in its long curly ends and very
marked white parting. But the wig was
a part of Peter. He would not have
known himself or been recognized by his
customers in any other head gear.
Peter was fussy, priggish and self-con-
ceited, but thoroughly honest and well
meaning. There are very few perfect
people in this lower world, and we might
not find them comfortable companions il
there were more; human nature is mix
ture common to us all, and to be unable
to laugh at our neighbors would deprive
life Of much of it's SAVIOR. Happily We
are not aware that our neighbors are
laughing at us in the same fashion-a
HYnd lu
agreeable. Certainly our hero never sus.
pected that he could be laughed at.
In due course of time Mrs Peter Pat
terson left her comfortable home forever.
In the twenty long years OF her married
life she had been childless, and yet never
regretted it. She had, in her want of
other and nobler occupation, eaten too
much and walked too little; SO one day
she was found lifeless on her parlor floor,
from an attack of spoplexy.
Peter was sorry. He was not crushed,
but decently sorry. There had been no
romance in his marriage. He had pro-
posed to his wife because she was quiet,
domestic sort of girl, who would help him
lay up money; and she married him be-
cause he asked her. Literally this was
her reason. She had been good eco
nomical partner for Peter, and when he
had TO break up housekeeping and take
to boarding he felt Mrs. Patterson's loss
far more deeply than he had expected to.
No more savory little dishes that his soul
loved for dinner now, his favorite pad
dings with foamy sauce or fairy butter,
were unknown at Mrs. McGuffey's table.
He had to eat the day or reeking slice of
beef, the watery potatoes, the tough cab
bsge, the bakery pies, and make the best
of them. But custom did not harden his
palate or his digestion. He lost his ap-
petite and set up dyspepsia. There was
no help for it; he must marry again.
Now Peter had at least $4,000 we'll
invested, and on lucky day was offered
900 more for the stock and custom of
his store, no longer a mere tailor shop
but great, profitable clothing establish
ment. He doubted and demurred good
deal; but it was now late in the winter,
mince pies had set in, poultry was tough
at the Sunday dinners that had made one
day in the week endurable to him, and
his dyspepsia ragged. Dyspepsia is the
thumb-screw, the rack, the torture of the
water-drop, the iron boot, all combined
to man; woman can endure great deal
more a great deal better. Under this
awful dispensation Peter only cared to
get away from work and anxiety. His
deliberations ended rapidly; he sold out
his business, invested his money and
went back to birmingham, where he was
born, to try change Of air.